Another Thanksgiving season has come and gone, and now the throes of the gift-giving and good cheer are upon us.

•••

Before I go any further, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Las Posadas and Boxing Day to you all.

•••

I've only had personal experience with Ho-ho-ho, sleigh bells ringing, cookies-and-milk-left-by-the-fireplace celebration.

Growing up, Christmas in my house was always a time for good and bad. The good:

• If (and it was a big if) you were good all year, you knew you were going to get something under the tree on Dec. 25. Just exactly what, you couldn't be sure.

• School was always out for a few days between the Christmas holidays and the start of the New Year, so you had time to play with whatever you received for Christmas, or better yet, what your friends received for Christmas. Why break your own stuff right away?

• Holidays always brought families together, and if you were lucky, they'd bring gifts as well. The more (gifts) the merrier, I always said.

And the bad:

• If you weren't good all year (I joined the 99 percent), chances were that you had some major sucking up, er, repentance, to do between Thanksgiving and the third week of December if you had any chance for that GI Joe with the Kung Fu grip or whatever toy emblazoned on the television screen was worth your drool that year.

• The anticipation: The week leading up to Christmas was torturous. You could plainly see all the gifts under the tree, unless of course the parents hadn't wrapped them yet, in which case they were under their bed of tucked away in a closet.

• In the event that you were able to get a peak at your gift, it was rarely a win-win. Sure, you felt guilty for looking, and sure, there might be some remorse for spoiling the surprise (never, in my case). But if the gift was lame, then you knew instantly this was not a banner year in your behavior history and trying to act surprised and thankful when opening said gift was a real chore.

•••

And then there was Christmas night: Ah, yes. I remember going to bed and trying to be as quiet as possible, in an attempt to hear a sleigh land on the roof.

I also remember wondering what an amazing pilot Santa must be, somehow maneuvering eight reindeer and an overloaded sled to a stop on such a short roof.

Alas, the only sounds I ever heard I attributed to my parents, either getting ready for bed or negotiating with Mr. Claus about which and how many presents I deserved to open the next morning.

•••

All these years later, I still love Christmas for different reasons. Sure, it's still nice to receive a thoughtful gift, but giving has taken the place of that greedy, I-deserve-this-and-that attitude I had way back when.

I also believe that the water at the North Pole must include some stellar longevity properties. How else do you explain how such a barrel chested old geezer can make it around the world so fast once a year?

Jerry Hitchcock, a copy editor for The Press, still sleeps quietly on Christmas Eve. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at jhitchcock@cdapress.com.